


la vache est tombée de la lune (the cow fell out of the moon)

by orphan_account



Series: appelle-moi par ton nom (call me by your name) [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Boredom, Chinese Food, Developing Relationship, Drug Use, Gen, Hanukkah, Hospitalization, Hotels, I Don't Even Know, Insecure Timothèe Chalamet, Love Confessions, Manhattan, Randomness, Sad Timothée Chalamet, What Was I Thinking?, What is this?, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28122048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I don't know what this is, exactly, but Timothée Chalamet's in it, with Armie Hammer.(Or, Armie visits Timmy in NYC for Hanukkah.)
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: appelle-moi par ton nom (call me by your name) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087184
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	1. le commencement

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, I don't even know what this is. All I know is that I saw CMBYN for the first time a few days ago, and now I'm hooked.

Timothée disappeared early Thursday night. 

It was the last night of Hanukkah, and he spent it with his parents and older sister Pauline at their old apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. After saying the _berakhah_ , lighting the menorah and eating the fennel-roasted chicken and the potato latkes, Timothée excused himself and went to the bodega for cigarettes.

Before leaving, he kissed Pauline and his mother goodbye, lingering for a moment when she took hold of his wrist. “What’s wrong?”

One corner of Nicole’s mouth turned up in a wary grimace. “It’s freezing cold out there, and it’s still snowing. If you really have to go, wear your boots and parka, and your beanie. And don’t stay out too late. If you’re gone longer than 15 minutes, I’m sending in the cavalry.”

Timothée smirked and leaned down to kiss her again. His lips were dry and chapped. “Jeez, Mom. I have my phone, you don’t have to worry about me! Forget 15, I’ll be there and back in 10 minutes, tops. Do you want anything while I’m out?”

“No, honey. I’m fine, but you may want to pick up some Carmex. It’s fine with me, but I feel for the poor girl who’ll kiss you next. Unless you do as I say.” She smiled, gripped his chin and brushed her fingers over his bottom lip. “ _Oy vey_ , it may be too late. They’re so dry and brittle you’ll give her a split lip! Whoever she is…”

“Mom!” Timothée scoffed and slipped out of his mother’s hold. “You don’t have to hover over me all the time. Look, I know I’m your ‘baby boy’ and all that, but your fascination and, frankly, interference in my love life is a bit much. I mean, I’m not a kid anymore. I’m 25 years old -”

“Not for another week and a half. But that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter how old you are, Timothée. You are _mon petit chou_.”

“ _Maman! Ne m’appelle pas comme ça_!" Timothée’s cheeks flushed. He rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Pauline, who had covered her mouth and was lightly shaking with repressed laughter. “Ha ha, very funny, sis. You want anything from the store?”

“No thanks. I’m good.” She stabbed a latke with her fork and dipped it into the small dish of applesauce before bringing it to her mouth.

“Okay. Just don’t complain later. Remember, I asked you.”

Timothée slipped on his black LL Bean boots, donned his red plaid cap with ear flaps and buttoned his trench coat. He waved to his dad, who had stepped outside on the balcony to take a work call - “After all, I’m not Jewish. To everyone else, this is just another day.”

He locked the front door behind him and decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator. It was really cold, but he figured he could use the exercise.

Timothée had just turned toward Ninth Avenue when someone snuck up behind him and covered his eyes with their hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> "... _mon petit chou_.”----->"...my little baby."  
> “ _Maman! Ne m’appelle pas comme ça_!" -----> "Mom, don't call me that!"


	2. suis-moi (follow me)

“Guess who, Timmy? _Chag sameach_!”

It was Armie. Armie was here, he was really here. Timothée took Armie’s hands in his and laced their fingers together. He lifted their hands and turned around to face him.

It had been nearly a year since he had actually seen him face to face. Timothée wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around him, bury his face into his chest and weep, but he didn’t. He had been steadily stockpiling numbness for months, clinging to it like a lifeline.

“Timmy. Hey, what’s wrong? Did you have an argument with your parents?” Armie’s brow furrowed and his blue eyes darkened with concern. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m here.”

At his words, the dam burst. Timothée snorted. He let go of Armie’s hands and furiously swiped his sleeve over his eyes. “No uh, I didn’t exactly have a fight with my parents. My mom kind of babied me a little, but you know, I kind of am...her baby, I mean.”

Timothée laughed, hiccuped and sobbed. “Aw damn it! Man, here I am trying to seem all cool and collected, and instead I’m just a babbling, blubbering mess. Sorry, Armie.”

“Whoa, hey. Slow down, Timmy. Okay? Calm down and tell me what’s going on.”

Timothée took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Ugh, I’m a mess. I didn’t want this to be the first thing I did when I saw you, but actually seeing you here was the last thing I expected to happen. Talk about a Christmas miracle!”

“Sure, we can call it that. Or Hanukkah. It’s just that time of year for miracles, I guess.” Armie put his hands on Timothée’s shoulders and squeezed the skin of his neck between his thumbs and pointer fingers.

Timothée winced and hissed air between his teeth. “Gah, don’t do that! Just what is it with this fascination you have of rubbing and pinching my skin? Wait, nevermind, don’t answer that. I don’t really want to know.”

“Did you even have to ask?” Armie grinned and let go of Timothée’s neck. He had pinched the skin so hard that he left red finger-shaped marks. “Yeesh, you may be onto something. I didn’t mean to squeeze you so hard.”

“Well, that’s probably as close to an apology as I’m gonna get from you. And I accept. ‘It’s the intention that matters,’ Bubbe says.”

“Well, God bless Bubbe.” Armie yawned suddenly and took his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “It’s so dark, it’s hard to believe it’s only 6:30. The snow’s only gonna get worse. Where are you going?”

“Well, I was gonna go to the bodega for some cigarettes and stuff. But you know what, now that you’re here, I suddenly just wanna do something wild and spontaneous. I mean, if you’re up for it. You only live once, after all.”

Armie smiled, and the skin around his eyes crinkled. “Sure thing, Timmy. What’d you have in mind?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where are they going? Will they get caught in the storm?🤔 Stay tuned to find out. 🙂


	3. je suis malade (i'm sick)

What Timothée had in mind was that he was hungry. He and Armie walked the short distance to Tim Ho Wan for dim sum, where throughout his high school years Timothée regularly stopped for takeout on the way home.

Armie smiled and stood to the side while Timothée ordered some sticky rice in a lotus leaf to-go. Timmy grinned and made small talk with the elderly woman who took his order, but Armie could tell that he was just going through the motions. His usually vibrant eyes seemed dimmer, almost gray. 

After he paid and took the little brown paper bag with his food, Timothée waved at Armie to get his attention. “Hello, earth to Armie? You look like you’re a million miles away, man. Come on, let’s go somewhere warm. I’ll eat, and we can sit and talk. Cool?”

“Um, yeah. Cool. Where do you want to go now?”

“Well, we could go to the restaurant at the Marriott Marquis. It’s only about half a mile from here. I don’t think they’ll like me bringing outside food, so I’ll have to buy a drink, at least. I’ll get one for you, too. Heck, drinks on me tonight.”

“Okay, let’s walk over. Lead the way.” Armie gave an excited gasp when Timothée came over and took his hand, in front of the old woman. She smiled and nodded mildly, waving goodbye to them as they walked out of the restaurant. Armie noted that she kind of resembled Lucy Liu, or how he imagined Lucy Liu might look in about 25 years.

Armie tightened his hold on Timothée’s fingers. They were a lot like Timmy himself. Long, lanky, and beautiful. Armie felt heat rush to his cheeks.

Timothée flexed his fingers and caressed the palm of Armie’s hand with his thumb. He led Armie through the streets and snow until they came upon the Marriott, a stone’s throw away from Times Square. This time last year, it had been swarming with people, native New Yorkers and tourists alike bustling about in the city that never sleeps.

It was crowded, but it was nothing like what Armie had experienced when he had visited the city before. He saw that there were dozens of people, but also that they kept the requisite distance of 6 feet apart.

Timmy walked through the spacious lobby with a nod and tight-lipped smile to the receptionist, a pretty brunette with arched brows and red lipstick who murmured, “Welcome back, Mr. Chalamet.”

Armie waited until they got into the hotel’s elevator to ask. “‘Welcome back?’ How often do you come here, Timmy?”

Timothée scoffed and let go of Armie’s hand. He brushed his fingers through his hair, then grabbed a clump and tugged until there were tears in his eyes.

“You know what? Let’s just skip the drinks. I actually have a room here. Please, let’s just go to my room and talk. Armie, please. I don’t feel very good all of a sudden. I think I’m sick.”


	4. חַי achiever

His room was on the twenty-fifth floor. By the time the elevator reached the floor, Timothée had begun to tremble. His forehead was beaded with sweat, his eyes glazed over. As Armie watched, a thin rivulet of blood slowly trickled from his left nostril.

He stared straight ahead, seeming unaware of what was happening, or even where he was. “Hey,” he said, taking hold of Timothée as he began to stagger. “Whoa, you really are sick, aren’t you? I’m sorry, Timmy, you may hate me for this, but -”

Armie leaned down and literally lifted Timothée up. He passed out, briefly, but woke again, giggling, when Armie pulled the door handle and tried to go into the room.  


“It’s locked, silly.” 

Timothée flicked Armie’s nose with his finger and reached into his pants pocket for his key card.

“There, you just stick it in the slot and presto!” He laughed, his voice slightly slurred. “Yay, we’re here, Armie! _Wilkommen, bienvenue...welcome_.”

Armie quickly surveyed the room. It had a twin bed, a love seat, a bureau with a 75” Samsung TV, a mini-fridge, a desk, and a rolling office chair. 

“Well, Timmy, I gotta admit, this seems like quite a nice home away from home.”

“I know, right? It’s pretty cool...” Timothée’s voice trailed off on a yawn. “But anyway, Armie, at the risk of sounding...ungrateful, could you please put me down?”

“Oh! Sure. I mean, yeah, of course.” Armie laid him down on top of the comforter and gently pulled his boots off. When Armie started to take off his hat and coat, Timothée yelped and jerked away from him.

“Dude! I just realized something. Where the hell did I put the bag? Y'know, the takeout bag from Tim Ho Wan?”

“Oh, yikes.” Armie frowned and bit his lower lip. “I think I left it in the elevator. My bad.”

“Aw, man! At least somebody gets to enjoy some sticky rice in lotus leaf, even if it’s Oscar the Grouch.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Armie smiled indulgently and wrestled Timothée out of his coat. Underneath he only wore a black T-shirt, with a Hebrew letter he didn’t recognize and the word ACHIEVER in bold white capital letters. “What does that mean, Timmy?”

Timothée’s brow furrowed in confusion, but he chortled and patted Armie’s cheek when he realized what he meant. 

“Oh, right, you can’t read Hebrew. Like, at all. You are _such a bad Jew_ , Armie! Coming from one who only lights the menorah 8 nights a year for Hanukkah, and who hasn’t set foot inside a synagogue since he was 13. And even then, I only became _bar mitzvahed_ to please Bubbe. You know, Armie, I don’t even know if I believe in God. Oh, shit!” 

His eyes widened in horror. “D-don’t tell anybody I said that. I mean, as secular as Hollywood is, it might actually hurt my marketability or...whatever. Hey, man, I really think I’m about to pass out, will you please stay with me? Pretty please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The joke with the shirt is that the Hebrew letter חַי is pronounced "high." As we all know, Timmy is very much a high achiever.
> 
> I'm gradually forming a sort of plot for this little drabble, or whatever you want to call it. It was basically just a way to entertain myself on a rainy day and something fun to do for Hanukkah. 
> 
> Thanks for giving it a chance, and hopefully sticking with me until the end.


	5. la vie imite l'art (life imitates art)

Armie stayed with Timothée through the night. He sat up and watched for hours as he tossed and turned and sweated out whatever it was he had taken.

He searched through the bureau drawers and found copies of the Bible and the Book of Mormon. It seemed odd, until he pulled out his phone and did a little research.

The founder of the hotel chain had been a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and while most hotels only put the Bible in the drawers of every room, Marriott had insisted that they do the same with the Book of Mormon. Basically feeling numb from worry tinged with boredom, Armie picked up the thin dark blue leatherette book and opened it.

While he himself was not actively religious, both of his parents were devout, conservative Christians, his mother especially so. While the Hammer family were of a Ukrainian Jewish ethnic background, his father’s family had been in the United States for six generations. Armie and his younger brother Viktor had both been raised in Christianity, specifically as Pentecostals.

He had lost touch with his brother over the years, but to this day, his mother was involved with Joyce Meyer Ministries. Somewhere along the way, Armie had stopped going to services, but for all intents and purposes, he was a Christian. Heck, he had married a Christian, and his children were being raised in Christianity. Armie figured that he was about as Jewish as Lucky the Leprechaun was Irish.

With that in mind, he settled into the rolling chair and started to skim. From its opening pages, Armie read that the Book of Mormon was “Another Testament of Jesus Christ” and “An Account Written By the Hand of Mormon, Upon Plates, Taken From the Plates of Nephi.” Nephi? Um, okay.

Armie read on, about magic plates of brass and hats, ‘glorified, resurrected beings’ and buried treasure. He read the personal testimony of eight and then three ‘witnesses,’ all swearing to the Book of Mormon’s authenticity. Because, why not? It wasn’t like you could bribe groups of people to say whatever you wanted them to. Of course not!

Timothée coughed and suddenly shot up in the bed, clutching his stomach. His eyes darted wildly around the room, settling on Armie. He rushed to the side of the bed and wrapped an arm around him, slipping his fingers under the hem of Timothée’s shirt to rub his back.

“Shh, it’s alright, Timmy. I’m here. It’s alright, baby, everything’s gonna be alright.”

He spoke without thinking, but Timothée’s jaw dropped. “A-Armie, wh-what’d you call me? Baby? Do you...do you really mean it, Armie? I mean, if you do - Dude, you have no idea what...Armie, I...I l-lo-”

Timothée’s words were interrupted by a series of coughs. Then he moaned, shook, and retched as a line of brownish green vomit dribbled from his chin.

Armie’s heart skipped a beat when Timothée moaned again and fell back against the headboard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean no offense when I talk about any specific religious tradition. I myself am an inactive Mormon, with a strong fascination with and respect for Reform Judaism, and I have conservative Evangelical Christian family members.
> 
> Some of this stuff is true, like about Armie's mom Dru Ann Mobley being devout and involved with Joyce Meyer Ministries, and some of it is entirely conjectural.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	6. une ligne fine (a fine line)

When Timothée woke again, it was morning. 

He couldn’t actually tell for sure, because the light that filtered in through the partially draped window was dull and gray. 

So, whatever day or time it was, it was still snowing. Ugh.

Timothée realized he wasn’t alone when he heard a shout and a sob, and was abruptly enveloped in his mother’s arms. She murmured a litany of Yiddish, French and English, thanking God that her ‘sweet, beautiful, baby boy’ was alright. She bombarded him with kisses, and hugged him so tightly that she didn’t let up until he whimpered in pain.

“Mm, Mom, take it easy! Where am I? What time is it? _Où est Armie_?”

Somewhat irrationally, he thought that since he asked the last question in French, Armie must still be here. Wherever ‘here’ was.

‘Here’ turned out to be Mount Sinai Beth Israel, less than three miles away from the hotel. The date was Sunday, December 20. 

“And your friend Armie went out to get some food. He hasn’t left your side since you were admitted early Friday morning. The man hasn’t eaten or bathed in two days. It’s too bad he’s not around, he wanted to be here when you woke up. But I put my foot down and told him he better get something to eat, or he’ll wind up being admitted, too.”

Nicole leaned down to press her lips to the top of his head. 

“You nearly scared us to death, baby! Why did you take cocaine in the first place? Had you just never tried it before, and wanted to see what the fuss was about? God help me, Timothée, if you weren’t in such a sorry condition, I’d beat you bloody! Your father had to go to Paris on a business trip, but he’ll be so relieved to hear you’re awake. And Pauline - maybe give her a little time. She’s pretty pissed off. She went to the Ritz Carlton until the snow clears up, she says. Then I think it’s back to Paris.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s really...I mean, Armie never left? I guess he really cares about me.” Timothée smiled wanly and lay back down, slinging an arm over his face. _“Désolé, maman. Je ne voulais pas te faire peur_.” 

He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I really didn’t want to scare you. None of you. It’s gonna sound lame, but I’ve been feeling kind of...I dunno, down lately. Filming in Boston’s on hiatus until after the new year, and I just...I needed something to distract me in the meantime. The stress was kind of getting to me. I’m so sorry, Mom.”

His voice broke, and he reached out blindly for her hand. She kissed his fingers. Timothée could feel her tears drip onto his skin.

She stayed that way for a while, like some tableau from a tragic play, until there was a gentle knock on the door. 

“Hey Timmy, I’m back. I brought you some more sticky rice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> " _Désolé, maman. Je ne voulais pas te faire peur.”_ \-----> "Sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to scare you."
> 
> The title for this chapter comes from the song "Fine Line" by Harry Styles.
> 
> The filming Timmy is doing in Boston is for an upcoming Netflix sci-fi satirical film called _Don't Look Up_.
> 
> I know I've said it a lot, but thank you sincerely to all my readers. The next chapter will be the last, and after that, who knows? Writing is kind of addictive.


	7. le dénouement

“Mm man, that’s good! I’ve really missed this. Would you believe it’s been six months since I’ve had anything from Tim Ho Wan?” 

Timothée picked up a bit of rice with his chopsticks and held them out toward Armie. “You really ought to try it. Open your mouth.”

“No thanks. I went to the Mexican place on First Avenue and ate four or five burritos. I’m stuffed.” Armie covered his mouth. 

“I never got the chance to ask, but what do you think of the mustache? Should I just shave it off, or leave it?”

“I don’t care for it, but then, I’ve never been one for facial hair. Well, that’s not entirely true, but it doesn’t suit me. It doesn’t really suit you, either.”

“Right. Thanks for being honest with me. Oh yeah, and speaking of honesty-”

“Look, if you’re gonna give me a hard time about all this, just save it, okay? I already feel guilty as hell. I nearly gave my mom a heart attack, my dad’s off in another state so he doesn’t have to deal with it, and my sister probably won’t speak to me again until the end of the world…”

“Oh no, Timmy, I’m not going to give you a hard time. I mean, yeah, I can’t lie to you and say I’m not a little bit disappointed, but you’re safe now, you’re here, and that’s all that matters. I was going to ask you to elaborate a little bit on what you said before…”

“Oh that?” Timothée clucked his tongue. “I felt so bad at the time, I wasn’t sure I’d get another chance to say it. I mean, I do love you, Armie. Like a - like an older brother.”

“Is that right?” Armie grinned and took the carton of food away from Timothée. He put it on the bedside table and climbed onto the edge of the bed, inching his way toward Timothée. 

As he came closer, Armie’s expression turned serious and he murmured a series of slow, solemn words that sounded like Hebrew.

Timothée gasped when he hovered right over him, and slowly pressed their foreheads together.

“If only it could be as with a brother,  
As if you had nursed at my mother’s breast:  
Then I could kiss you...and no one would despise me.”

Armie lowered his face, planting soft kisses on Timothée’s nose, his cheeks and the corners of his lips. 

“Don’t ever do anything like that again, Timmy. I swear to God, when you passed out and quit breathing back there, I thought that was the end, for you and me. I don’t know what kind of life I could have without you. _I love you_ , Timmy.”

“I won’t. I promise. I’m sorry, Armie. I love you, too.”

Armie blinked away tears and kissed him.

“Get some rest now. Your mom will be back soon. I have a flight to catch. I’m going to spend Christmas with the kids, but then I’ll be back. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hebrew that Armie recites to Timmy - which, sorry for not including, but there was no way I was going to try typing that much transliterated Hebrew 😅 - and the translation are taken from Shir Hashirim/Song of Solomon 8:1. The text I used is from the 1985 Jewish Publication Society Tanakh. 
> 
> For not having anything in particular in mind, I guess this is a decent way to conclude this. I do feel that this is the first of many fics with Timmy and Armie, and I'm excited to see what lies in syore. For the last time, I would like to heartily thank all of my readers once again. Thank you all for giving me and this a chance. ✌
> 
> __
> 
> _FIN_  
> 


End file.
